


a penny for your thoughts

by wandr



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apartment Life, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, best friend wonwoo, side soonwoo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-10 01:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10426287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandr/pseuds/wandr
Summary: Kim Mingyu’s a pastry chef and it pays him pennies. But he has his friends, he has his cats, and well, he has a job, and he appreciates that.The guy on the bus is a closed book. Mingyu’s a slow reader, but he gives everything his all.





	1. Chapter 1

“Good work today, kid. Keep it up.”

Mingyu twists his head from where he stands, powdered sugar dusting his cheeks and covering the apron he flings into the laundry hamper. His boss is leaning on the doorway at the other end of the staffroom, old brows furrowed and flipping through the pile of papers he holds. It’s just past 10pm, and right now Mingyu’s brain can really relate to the yellow lights that flicker sporadically above his head— but he quickly registers Mr Park’s words and stands a little straighter. Wiping some sugar off his face with his forearm, he offers a clumsy grin. “Yeah? You think so?” 

Mr Park is in his late forties, early fifties maybe, and Mingyu stands at least a head taller than him. Surprisingly, they were about the same height when Mingyu first starting working at the restaurant— he was just a lanky fifteen-year-old then, washing dishes for spare change— but six years have passed, and much has changed since. In those six years Mingyu studied, worked, graduated high school, studied, worked, graduated culinary school— to reach where he now stands as head pastry chef. The pay isn’t the best, and his boss is a strict man, but Mingyu has a job, and he appreciates that. 

Mr Park fixes all focus on the papers in his hands, flipping, furrowing. The silver in his hair peeks between black when he raises his head to speak. 

“Hm? Yes, many customers enjoyed the new recipe you developed. White chocolate and green tea mousse? It made up more than two-thirds of all desserts ordered tonight. Very popular. If it sells enough next week I’ll make it a permanent addition to the menu.” 

Mingyu’s jaw slackens, and he presses his lips together to hold back a delighted laugh. He responds instead with a deep bow, a thank you, and spins around to grab his backpack from its hook, grin leaving scorch marks on the wall along the way. He fumbles for his phone around his uneaten lunch and letters from his mobile phone provider or something, warmth zipping from his toes to his head like a high striker. It's elating, gravity-defying. Filler. Distracted, he almost doesn't hear Wonwoo’s obnoxiously deep voice, somewhere in his head, pestering him, fingers flicking at his skull. _You need to ask for a raise this time, jackass._

All warmth falls to the ground just as quickly as it had risen. 

Sigh. 

Glance. 

Mr Park is shifting, turning to collect his belongings, moving to make his way home. Home to his wife, a kid or two, probably. Mingyu fiddles with his backpack's zipper, and it's cool and bumpy and metal. He pulls his head up, eyes dragging along the peeling cream wallpaper, between the rusty copper hooks, out through the thickened glass window. Behind glass, behind shadows, leaden clouds loiter about the night sky. They’re a dark gray, crisp and burnt at the edges. Bursting at the seams. It’s supposed to rain tonight. He remembered his umbrella, luckily. 

So. 

“Ah— Excuse me, sir, Mr Park?” 

Mr Park turns around real quick, smiles even. Reassurance and intimidation fight to the death. 

"Yes, Mingyu?" 

Muffled thunder rolls somewhere in the distance, beyond the plaster walls. (Or was that his stomach? Maybe he should just leave and eat—) 

"I was wondering," (Fuck _you_ , Wonwoo). Mingyu picks at his fingernail, on his left index finger, digs into the skin a little, "I was wondering if I..." 

Wait. 

Shit, did Mr Park's smile just falter? Or was he seeing things? Maybe he should ask him another day. 

"... Ah..." 

Mr Park is tapping his foot. "Spit it out, kid. It's supposed to storm tonight. I have to go." 

Mingyu looks up at his boss. He pauses. He breathes. 

"... I was, ah, just wondering if I could take Sunday off? It's my uncle's birthday." 

Plop. 

The rumbles, surprisingly, weren't Mingyu's stomach. A second, slightly louder roll comes along, a chorus in crescendo. It’s irregular at first, but the pitter-patter of fat waterdrops begin to tread down upon the thin rooftop. They’re careful and cautious, a tap dance on ice; steady now, don’t slip. He should go home before it gets heavier. 

Mr Park's smile regains. "Sunday? Hm, I guess so. But don’t make it a habit. Happy birthday to your uncle." 

Mingyu returns the smile, close-mouthed. 

“Thanks, sir. G‘night? See you Monday.” 

Mr Park raises his hand as he turns to walk away, a goodbye of sorts. A lone crack of thunder splits through the night sky. 

“You too. You’re my best employee, don’t get caught in the rain.”  
  
  


*

 

It’s 10:25pm and Mingyu’s fucking drenched when his bus finally arrives because not even his trusty yellow umbrella can save him from a gale-rain onslaught. His black trousers and white button-up cling to his skin for dear life, and it’s definitely not as sexy as it should be. The distant bus comes at first like a desert mirage: unbelievable, intangible, and with a Gong Yoo poster on its side. It nears, and Mingyu motions to the driver, closes his umbrella, and climbs on board.

The bus is dim, ceiling and seats shrouded in an artificial blue glow. Apart from an elderly man at the front, the bus is empty, so Mingyu can sink his soaked body into the seat’s plush cushion and take up as much space as he wants. The bus is quiet, save for the torrential rain hammering it from all directions. But the rain is constant, disregardable, white noise, and oddly soothing. 

Mingyu’s backpack is waterproof and its contents are safe. He feels around through the dimness for his phone, eyes slipping shut with each motion of the bus. He looks like a drowsy, drunk, six-foot baby. But he finally finds his phone, and lights up just as it does when he notices a new text message notification. He fumbles in his passcode and opens it up. 

 10:32pm | wonu: did you talk to your boss? 

He groans. There’s no fucking escape. He’s tempted to turn his phone off, put it on silent at the least, but instead he types his reply and presses send three minutes later. 

  10:35pm | you: yea  
  10:35pm | you: it went well 

That wasn’t an outright lie. He did talk to his boss, and he did say yes, though it was for a day off for his uncle’s supposed birthday rather than a pay raise. But Mingyu’s tired and the water is starting to seep, deep into his clothes, into his skin, into his tissue, into his bones. He can deal with this later. His phone buzzes again. He checks it anyway. 

  10:36pm | wonu: good, I’m proud of you 

He smiles at the screen. That warms him up a bit, despite the lingering unease nipping at his gut. Wonwoo’s a nice guy. They’ve known each other since middle school, and Wonwoo’s an older brother, his best friend, his silent cheerleader, his closest ally, unwilling partner in crime— _Buzz._

  10:37pm | wonu: only I can push you over. :-) asshole 

— and Mingyu takes everything back.  
  
  


*

 

Mingyu didn’t notice the guy at first. He must have gotten onto the bus about ten minutes ago, because, yeah, the bus did pull over to the side of the road. It was dark: but behind the window, behind the glow of streetlights, and behind the softening sheet of rain, he saw some brick buildings, a white truck. Yeah, he must’ve gotten on from there. 

The guy sits at the front, in the side-seat the old man once was before he left. Shaking off sleep, Mingyu glances at the guy with piqued curiosity. 

He must’ve gotten caught in the rain, too, because his black hair lays flat against his head, pointy ears and hoop-earrings poking from each side. He’s fixed to his phone, probably playing some game from the way he attentively clicks his thin, bony thumbs against the screen. Everything about the guy is thin— or, perhaps lean, moreso, because he doesn’t look weak in the slightest. His arms peek out of his black muscle tee, and his baggy joggers are black, too. His boots might be gray, but they’re covered in mud, so it's hard to tell. 

Mingyu snorts. Dark colours, overwhelming black— the guy’s fashion is exactly like Wonwoo’s boyfriend’s— he could probably even pass as Soonyoung from afar, if it weren't for that giraffe neck. He’s wearing a short silver chain, and it glistens when it catches the streetlight of the incoming bus stop. It’s Mingyu’s stop, he should get ready to leave. 

The once howling wind has died down considerably, and now only the muffled downpour of rain and the creaking of the bus’s brakes are audible within the blue dimness. Mingyu grabs his backpack and umbrella, peeking out the window at his apartment complex across the road. He readies himself to exit the bus. 

And so does the guy in black. He also grabs his things— or, well, just his phone— and stands, lithe limbs swaying with the motions of the halting bus. He’s taller than Mingyu thought, maybe about Wonwoo’s height. Mingyu furrows his brows. He’s never seen the guy before, and he’s seen everyone from his complex. Whenever new people move in he brings them food, a housewarming of sorts. He likes chatting with his neighbours. They’re kind and they’re friendly, mainly widowed elderly ladies who call him prince charming and compliment his baking. They share cooking tips, and they remind Mingyu of his grandma. He loves his neighbours. But this guy is an anomaly, and Mingyu wants to say hello. 

He waits for the guy to exit first, and for a moment he stands under the shelter of the bus stop roof. Mingyu nods to the bus driver and soon follows suit, swinging on his backpack and opening up his yellow umbrella. 

The rain is considerably louder from outside the bus. There are no barriers anymore to dampen its volume— no plaster walls, no metal containers. It hits the tin roof of the bus stop like bullets, pellets of nickel and copper rather than water falling down from the sky above. The air is thick and the air is dark, and the guy is walking away, into the rain. 

Oh, _shit_. 

Mingyu shuffles forward under his yellow umbrella, almost slipping on a puddle pooling against the sidewalk. He calls out, into the rain. 

“Hey! Hey, you!” 

The guy doesn’t turn. Or maybe he just didn’t hear him, the rain is pretty loud. Mingyu pushes forward, shoes gripping wet gravel. Closer, he calls out again, and he places his umbrella above the both of them at the same time the guy turns around. 

In hindsight, Mingyu should’ve expected the punch. It’s quick and it’s sharp and it’s concentrated, and it hits him square in the gut. It’s an explosion in his abdomen, and not the pleasant sort. Because, yeah, looking back, having a tall, shadowed figure calling and sprinting at you late during the night is a pretty suss situation. Thankfully, he raises his free hand in defeat right before the next punch lands. “Ow, fuck. _Hey hey hey!_ I’m not a murderer, I swear, I just wanted to share my umbrella.” 

Mingyu swears he sees his life flash before his eyes before the fist stops, centimetres from his face, and the sharp-eyed guy slowly lowers it down. Mingyu raises his hand to rub at his cheek, ghost of a fist breaking his skin. The guy looks him up and down, slowly, and very slightly slackens his posture. His spine is a bit arched, like a cat holding it’s guard. 

“Oh. Do I know you?” 

Mingyu releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “Uh, no, I don’t think so. I live in the apartment complex just there, that one with the gray concrete and ugly trees—” He points in front of them, at the multi-storeyed building across the bumpy gravel road they walk on, “It’s the best I could afford, but it’s not that bad once you get used to it—” 

The all-black guy with the sharp eyes is staring at Mingyu as they walk, perplexed. He looks him up and down again while he talks about old ladies cooking or something, standing only half under the umbrella in case the tall stranger has a few loose screws. He’s young, brown-haired, wearing some kind of work uniform. He doesn’t look like the crazy type, but you can never be too cautious. 

The rain is loud and hard, so Mingyu hopes the guy can hear him. They reach the door of the apartment building, and Mingyu quickly fumbles his keycard out of his pocket to open it up. They step forward into the dingy, gray building. 

The closing door sucks all sound like a vacuum, and when it shuts the rain is barely audible within the apartment’s thick concrete walls. It’s cool and it’s damp, gray elevators and gray stairwells. Mingyu glances at the guy in black and he’s staring at the stairs with all his focus, standing quietly, silently, yet not timid or demure. His hair is still stuck to his face. Mingyu coughs and reaches his hand out to the other. “I’m Mingyu, by the way. I live in room 208. Let me know if you need anything.” He smiles, canines bared. 

For a few moments his out-stretched hand isn’t reciprocated, and Mingyu falters a little. All-black-wet-hair-guy flits his gaze between the stairs and the hand and back, mulling over his options. He looks over at the tall stranger for a final time, analysing: his smile is falling. He squints his eyes a little, before hesitantly reaching out his own hand to meet the other. He speaks slowly. 

“Thanks, I guess. I’ll let you know,” he grips and gives a firm shake downwards, “bye.” 

Before Mingyu can respond, the guy’s making his way up the cracked gray stairwell. His feet are nimble, feet are quick. In an instant, he’s gone. Mingyu eventually opens his mouth to speak. His damp clothes are clinging to his skin, yellow umbrella open, yet held below, and a delayed _see you_ echoes up the concrete walls of the empty foyer. 

It’s 11:18pm when Mingyu actually gets to lie beneath the sheets of his warm, dry bed. They’re crisp and clean, embracing him tight. His two cats, short-haired, black-furred, lay in a pile at the foot of his bed. He flicks through his phone: checking his social media, any news he’s missed over the past day. He sees a selfie of Wonwoo and Soonyoung eating takoyaki at some night markets, taken by Soonyoung, of course, and he makes a face that’s a weird distorted mixture of envy, content and sulk. He comments on the photo with three kissy emojis. 

The rain has died down almost completely now. It’s hushed, thin, tired; falling against Mingyu’s window hesitantly, smaller raindrops connecting together to form lines. His cats' rhythmic purrs send vibrations into his feet. He curls his toes and rolls over. 

It’s 11:36pm, after Mingyu sets down his phone, when he realises that he never found out the guy’s name, or even which room he lives in. He managed to tell him his room number, thankfully, at the least. He seems like a nice guy. He reaches over to switch off the yellow light of the lamp. 

He’ll get his name next time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> initial working title of this was "au with cats". i just really wanted to write cats,


	2. Chapter 2

“Hyung!”  
  
The clinking of spoon against coffee cup comes to a slow as Wonwoo glances up from his newspaper to the tall, scruffy-haired man bouncing through the cafe door. He takes a sip of his overpriced cappuccino, quirking an eyebrow at the same time Mingyu drags out the opposite chair. The screeching of metal against concrete floor (a more hipster Seoul cafe: Wonwoo’s choice this time) turns the heads of several Saturday-morning patrons, but Mingyu’s feeling too sunny to notice, and plonks right down.  
  
“Someone’s extra chipper today.”  
  
Mingyu reaches for Wonwoo’s raspberry croissant and mumbles his response through a crunching bite. “I’m a morning person.”  
  
Wonwoo rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “You’re an awake person. Anything in particular happen?”  
  
Mingyu thinks back to his morning. Nothing out of routine: 5am wakeup, fed cats, cleaned the house. Made breakfast, flicked through his phone. Nothing unusual. Well, he did practically spring out of bed like a jack-in-the-box, filled his cats’ bowls with kibble until they were overflowing, and duetted to singing in the rain with his soggy mop and bucket, but that was only a few decibels higher than normal. “Nup.”  
  
They chat through the bustle of the cafe, coffee grinders whirring and milk frothers fluffing out little white clouds. It’s been routine since Wonwoo graduated high school for the two to meet up once a week, the first few years at house parties or each others’ places to game; but these days they’re both busy, and brunch at a cafe has to suffice. These days, Mingyu spends his weekends catching up on sleep or labouring at the restaurant, while Wonwoo grades his high school students’ papers until the early morning, only remembering to sleep when Soonyoung places a sleepy hand on his shoulder. But they really try their best.  
  
Mingyu tilts back the last of his mochaccino, the concentrated sweetness hitting this tongue and coating his throat. Wonwoo looks different and the same, he thinks: the shaggy mop of high school replaced with a neat cut, scrawny limbs filled out with just a bit more tone and muscle, once bumpy skin remembered only by faded scars. An adult, more or less. Mingyu wonders if he’s changed, too.  
  
Wonwoo laughs. “So you sprinted at the guy through the rain, on a dark Friday night? I would’ve punched you too. I swear you’ve grown a fucking foot since senior year.” He watches Mingyu intently scrape the cocoa from the bottom of his cup into his mouth, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re a walking contradiction, Gyu. An anomaly.”  
  
“ _Woah woah_ , look at you, two years as a Lit teacher’s made you even more of a pretentious shit.” Mingyu places his empty mug to the side, satisfied. “How’s work, by the way? Must be nice having your boyfriend as a co-worker.”  
  
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Soonyoung has a PE class to teach. It’s not like we make out in the staffroom, we have decency.” Mingyu’s mind flashes back to junior year when he walked into Wonwoo and Soonyoung feeling each other up in a McDonald’s restroom, promptly walking the hell out of there, but he doesn’t bring it up (he’d much rather forget).  
  
Wonwoo slowly stirs his teaspoon in his cup. “Besides,” he says, and his gaze flits to a young couple sitting outside the cafe. The girl’s long hair frames the pretty smile she sends the boy, her fingers fiddling idly with his. Wonwoo blinks. “Besides,” he repeats, “everyone still thinks that we’re just...”  
  
He slowly trails off, and Mingyu carefully picks up. “That you’re just close friends?” He receives a clipped nod in response. “You didn’t end up telling them at the dinner? Your parents, too?” Wonwoo nods again, chugging down the last of his cold cappuccino. Mingyu presses onto a sugar packet with his thumb, trying to string together words with the smoothest edges. “Hyung, you gotta tell them eventually. It's not fair on them.”  
  
There's a sigh, a muted voice. “You sound just like Soonyoung." Wonwoo drags his eyes away from the window, staring back into the empty, stained cup in his hands.  
  
Then, he picks up, reaching over to mess up Mingyu’s already messy hair. “So you finally got that raise? I’m proud of you, little shit. Fourteen-hour days, six-day working weeks? They’ve been screwing you over. You deserve more.”  
  
Mingyu feels something loitering in his gut, something nipping. He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. Thanks, hyung.”  
  
He suddenly remembers the little paper box beside him, and his eyes brighten up. “Oh yeah, I brought some stuff for Soonyoung. I know he has better taste than you, that croissant was shit.” Wonwoo flicks a crumb at him and Mingyu lifts up the box’s lid to reveal a variety of sweets. “Just some new recipes I’ve been testing out at the kitchen. The boss said this one sold really well last night, it might even be a permanent menu item—”  
  
Wonwoo smiles, promising to hand them on to Soonyoung when he comes back from the weekend camp with his students. Mingyu wraps up the box as Wonwoo wraps up their chat, pushing his chair back into the table and dusting the flaky crumbs off his dark-wash jeans. He gives Mingyu a playful shove to his shoulder, passing on smiling words as they part.  
  
“See you later Gyu. I know it’s hard, but try not getting punched anymore. That’s my job."  
  
  


*

 

Mingyu spends the rest of his Saturday lounging at his apartment, body sunken into the embrace of his fraying, too-soft couch. He flicks through his social media feed on his phone, his cats making themselves at home on top of his sweatshirt, a human heater. He sees a Facebook event for a weekend-long night festival and considers it for a moment, but stops mid-thought. Who would he go with? Wonwoo’s marking papers, Soonyoung’s at camp. Who else is there? He had a lot of friends in high school, as well as throughout culinary school, but found himself drifting over time as work consumed his weekends.  
  
He places his phone beside him and tries to pet one of his cats, but it swipes at his arm and huffily plods away. The other one soon follows suit.  
  
The hours tick by until purple light begins filtering through Mingyu's apartment window, creeping slowly, until it reaches his feet. He feels a pang of hunger, standing to swing open his fridge: milk, kimchi, garlic. He groans, moving onto the freezer: ice-cream and a bag of frostbitten banana slices. He cries a little inside, mulling over his options.  
  
Kimchi milkshake?  
  
No, he isn’t that desperate for sustenance. Mingyu decides instead to head over to the convenience store a few bus stops away. He pulls over a yellow hoodie, grabs his wallet, and heads out his apartment door.  
  
Turning the corner of the corridor towards the elevator, Mingyu stops dead in his tracks. He blinks. Then, he lets out a clunky smile.  
  
It’s the guy from last night, the one in all-black with sharp eyes and wet hair. Only, his hair isn’t wet this time: it’s pressed against his forehead by a beanie (black, of course), silver chain catching the flickering yellow ceiling lights. He’s wearing black joggers again, but a grey muscle tee this time. Mingyu wonders if he owns a tee in every increment of the black-to-white spectrum, but can’t deny that the shade suits him.  
  
He’s faced towards an apartment door, quickly patting at his pockets, then flipping through his wallet. He lets out an exasperated groan.  
  
“Hey!” Mingyu calls.  
  
The man freezes, hand stiff on the door handle. It reminds Mingyu of his cats, when he catches them tainting the carpet a foot from the litter box. He watches the man cautiously swivel around. His eyes blink blankly at first, but then squint in recognition.  
  
“Oh, hey…?” He eyes the tall oaf from the night before, who’s now wearing a yellow hoodie. He looks like an overripe banana. What was his name again? M-something? Oh yeah— Mingyu.  
  
Mingyu watches the black-and-grey guy stare at him. One hand is still on the door handle, the other flexing uncomfortably by his side. Mingyu peers behind him and notices the number. 200. “You live here? I’m like, eight doors down from you. We’re neighbours, I never knew anyone lived there.”  
  
The guy blinks at Mingyu again. “I’m new. I moved in last month.”  
  
Mingyu thinks back to the past month. He didn’t notice any moving vans. The guy must’ve moved in quietly, or with few possessions. “Oh. Really? Not a lot of people move here, it’s a bit of a dump. Cheap, though. So where did you come—”  
  
Mingyu pauses. The guy is desperately trying to twist the door handle open. “Uh, you okay man?”  
  
The guy takes in a slow breath, mulling over his options. He could go downstairs, ask for a spare keycard. Or, he could go outside to that bush next to the bus stop, the one with the ugly flowers. But he’s not sure he can last that long.  
  
“I’m locked out. Can I use your toilet?”  
  
  


*

 

Mingyu finds himself back on his too-soft couch for the nth time that day, waiting for his new neighbour to finish using his bathroom. How didn’t he notice him moving in? He knows practically everyone in the apartment complex. He’d always assumed that room 200 was vacant— he’d never seen or heard any signs of life coming from it, anyway. Mingyu hears a flush, and the guy appears not long after.  
  
He wipes his hands on his joggers and looks to Mingyu. “Thanks.” He starts walking towards the door.  
  
Mingyu stands up and quickly speaks. “No worries—” He pauses, as if waiting for the guy to fill in his name, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint. “Uh, hey, what’s your name? We’re neighbours and all, so.”  
  
The guy stops. He looks to Mingyu again, analysing, the same way he did when Mingyu offered to share his umbrella the night before. He weighs the syllables in his mouth before speaking.  
  
“Myungho.”  
  
Mingyu smiles. “Nice to meet you, Myungho. Welcome to the neighbourhood.” There’s a pause for a second, and his mind flicks back to the Facebook event he saw prior in the day. “There’s a festival on this weekend. Wanna go tonight? I can show you around the area.”  
  
Mingyu watches Myungho standing by the door, thinking. For a split second, Mingyu thinks that he’ll run away again, like he did the night before, but he eventually opens his mouth to speak. “I’m busy tonight.” He pauses. “But I’m free tomorrow.”  
  
Mingyu lets out a simultaneous laugh and smile, relieved. He thanks his figurative uncle’s birthday for his day off tomorrow. “Cool. Tomorrow, 6pm? I’ll wait for you at the bottom of the complex.”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Myungho responds, and he can’t help but let out a small smile himself at the excitement exuding from the tall guy. He reaches for the door handle and wills himself to give a small wave. “See you then.”  
  
Mingyu waves back, not stopping until Myungho turns the corner and is out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH! i finally updated. tbh i was so close to scrapping this, but.... i really enjoyed writing the first part and couldn't let go. this chapter's hella dialogue heavy, but it's the quickest way for me to write and i really want to complete this ;A;; i hope this was okay!


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